


negative attention at best

by cerealmilk



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, bad moon memories from destiny 1, i care them, my friend and i made robot husbands in destiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerealmilk/pseuds/cerealmilk
Summary: Ronin has been on the moon for sixteen hours and he wants to go home.(or: Shadowkeep really, really sucks.)
Relationships: Male Guardian/Male Guardian (Destiny)
Kudos: 11





	negative attention at best

**Author's Note:**

> context part 1: my friend and i got talking about our destiny 2 husbands. i sent her a prompt list and she gave me "things you said when no one else was around." i scrounged this up in 20 minutes.
> 
> context part 2: ronin-12 was my guardian for destiny 1 and. let me tell you. when you use the same guardian it hurts so bad
> 
> context part 3: there's so much going on in the fic about old fireteams and shit that yall wont get bc its too long to explain and get all that Character Lore from the discord dms it spawned in but. bear with me
> 
> idk who reads destiny fics but its MY ao3 account and i control the post

Ronin has been on the moon for sixteen hours and he wants to go home. Of course, the initial three hours had been fine. Just a slow, slugging fight to reach the Scarlet Keep. Ronin knows the Hive. That much he can handle. I mean, sure, it’s on the moon, and his last experience on the moon hadn’t been so pleasant, and the Hive had so thoroughly fucked over his previous iteration— but. Still. It had been fine. He’s dealt with worse.

What he cannot handle is whatever the fuck came after. Shadowy figures hanging in the sky from invisible nooses, the keep half empty and half crammed with memories like a dull, familiar whisper in the back of his head. And then there had been the nightmare— pulsating red energy shifting and morphing until some hellish rendition of Crota stood before them. And he couldn’t even hurt the damn thing; it’s one thing to stare down the haunts of his past. It’s another to watch the solar energy of his dawnblade glance off the crimson surface.

(He remembers what it felt like to kill Crota, to run him through with his own sword, bathed in light as the sick, tangible feeling of foreign anger washed through him, dark against light.)

And then Eris had dragged him out of it, warping him to her side. Just like she had back then.

(Sometimes, he remembers what it feels like to die, broken at every seam, a hero but only in name. He remembers giving up, watching the swarms come over him, tearing him apart piece by piece by—)

And then he’d slept. When he’d woken up, there had been ghosts of Horus and Olivia hanging over him. The feelings had washed over him one by one, achingly familiar: Horus’s optimism, with his green eyes and his steady hands, Olivia’s wit and playful snark—

But that had been two hours ago, when he actually woke up, and he’d kind of hoped the ghosts would have drifted away by now. If anything, they seemed more corporeal. He can feel their shadows looming over his shoulder, their hands around his neck, hear their whispers in his head, echoes of a past he almost doesn’t remember.

It’s fucking unbearable. So, he’d hopped on his sparrow and ridden out until the moon was almost quiet. He can see red flashes in the distance, faraway sounds of another battle, but on the pale, dusty outcropping he’d found, it’s not something he has to worry about.

There’s a hum of a sparrow arriving behind him, the heavy thunk of boots hitting moondust. Ronin already knows who it is. He sighs, tightens the fold of his arms, ignores the heightened stir of whispers that Otiro’s arrival brings.

“I’m surprised Dani didn’t come with you,” he rumbles as Otiro comes to a stop next to him, carefully stepping around Olivia’s shadow.

_ I bribed Ana into distracting her,  _ Otiro signs.  _ How are you? _

Ronin hums. “Isn’t that the million dollar question.”

Truthfully, he— he doesn’t know. It really isn’t something he wants to think about. How he’s coping with all of this, all of these old memories. He’d like to crack a joke, something clever, something about how he’s a robot and his programming makes him fine, or something about a past life with a bad ex-girlfriend.

But— he’s trying to get better at being honest. Otiro brings out the best side of him in the worst way.

“I think,” he says, stopping because the words aren’t there and his optical sensors fizz like they do when he’s on the brink of something dangerous. “I think if one of these nightmares turns into Oryx, I might lose my fucking mind.”

There’s a soft touch at the base of his spine. Ronin allows it, allows the massive metal plate of his boyfriend’s chest to rest against his shoulders.

_ Is there anything I can do?  _ Otiro signs, tilting his head gently. Ronin can’t smile anymore— his facial plates aren’t built for expression, but he huffs a laugh.

“Can you punch ghosts?”

Otiro glances at the shadows behind them and shakes his head.

_ Already tried. _

“That’s sweet.”

Otiro flusters somewhat at that, and Ronin chuckles, some of the tenseness easing from his posture. “Seriously, Otiro. I’ll be okay. I just need time to— to figure it out.”

(As if he hasn’t already had decades to do that and he somehow still manages to be broken—)

Otiro watches him for a long, long moment, big and soft and gentle as he always is. Then, his hands move in familiar motions.

_ I love you. _

Ronin can’t get choked up anymore, but he still clears his throat. For some reason, it hurts to hear that, and  _ that  _ is something he really doesn’t want to unpack. Otiro seems to understand. Ronin wonders how he got so lucky— wonders if that’s something he should tell Otiro. He wonders if the mood would be killed by Horus and Olivia, hanging over his shoulders like a cloak. He wonders if he and Otiro could stay here forever, where everything is quiet and nothing hurts. He wonders if that would be okay.

“We should head back,” he says instead, letting his wondering remain in his cerebral cortex where it belongs, but as he turns away from the cliff face, he allows himself to grab Otiro’s hand. He imagines if they were human, it would be warm.

**Author's Note:**

> these bitches gay! good for them!! good for them


End file.
